Stories

Humans used to tell stories. Back in time, when dark meant you had to stop working because there was no light, people would tell stories to pass time. Telling stories was an esteemed profession, even: the vikings had skalds to sing the tales of old kings and gods and victories, medieval courts and villages had lyres and bards and talesingers, men and women who made living by telling stories. The best thing that could happen to a minstrel was to be so good, to have stories so unparallelled or a voice so hauntingly beautiful that some noble or court took you in when you were old and out of stories: young minstrels would travel from inn to inn, town to town, court to court, and sing and play and tell stories: stories made by someone else or, if they were really good, by themselves. A bard was not to be scowled at if he were good at what he did: slight a singer, and he might make mockery of you and sing it to all he met. But professional stories are a tale for another telling. Today I'm interested in stories men told in darkened huts, around campfires, in kitchens and on fields.

Before the ability to read and write became commonplace, stories were the way to relay common memories, information and knowledge. Long before the word for metaphor was invented, metaphors were told and shared. All stories originated somewhere, and all stories are meaningful. Nowadays, the "do you know what happened to me today"s are almost the only stories you hear people tell each other, but even those have a meaning, if only for a few minutes in that time and place. To tell a story is to be human.

The basic way of tales was to tell what you knew: if you knew none or could think of none for the situation, make one up. Through time and tellings the tales would warp and twist, becoming more than they were when they started: perhaps entwining with another tale and creating something completely new. That is the way of tales: tales want to be told, that is their purpose. The tale is not what makes the difference, the telling is. To tell a tale is not simply to read something out of a paper: atleast it didn't use to be. To tell a tale you had to commit yourself to it: fill in what you didn't remember, to become a part of the telling.

There's a specific telling of tales that I've always found interesting, and something I'd like to see happen in today's world as well. Perhaps, if I went into a war zone somewhere and walked into a camp, this is what I'd walk upon: 


In the past, in times of war, when the warriors of a nation, or a village, or a fiefdom or one lord or another, would take up arms and go to battle, the battles were almost always fought by day. When night fell, both sides would return to their camps. This is a way of battle that has moved through the ebb and flow of time, and the unwritten rule has been broken time and time again, but it has always returned into battlefields. The conduct of warfare is, however, not of interest here. What happened inbetween the battles is. Again, this was not a conduct everywhere, but many historics from around the world report some variables of the following.

After a battle, before the next one, those warriors that had survived would, on the night after the battle, gather. Usually the place would be a fire in the camp or some such place: a hall built there, or another such thing. Sitting there, in the dark, they would remember their dead from the day, and tell stories, and often drink to honor those gone and send them on their voyage. First stories would often be the deeds of the passed: great feats and hilarious gambits done in the past. When all the fallen would be remembered, other stories would unfold in the night: stories of the gods, and of the world when it was still young. There's one notable thing about the stories: the overall theme would be happy, even victorious. The first night was to honor the dead, not mourn them. Mourning would come later.

I wish there was a way to bring back the telling of tales: perhaps it would be as simple to invite people over, once a month, to sit and laugh and drink and tell stories. Maybe it would take more than I could do: maybe not. Maybe one of these days, I will invite people over, and tell them to bring only themselves and a story to share. Time will tell. The picture has nothing to do with the text, I just felt that I should add one, as it's been quite a while. I'll hopefully make a post only for pictures soonish.